Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman
“And an old woman like me is no good to her now. Go to her and comfort her. You have always loved her, so you will know what to say. If she breaks her heart, she will break yours too; you will never forgive yourself for abandoning her. Let her see that, however lonely and deserted she may feel, one staunch friend is true to her through all things. It is your right and privilege to share her sorrow and, if may be, to assuage it.”
At such a time my boy did not need to be told twice. As I sank exhausted against a tree, he stole forward; I heard him calling her softly by name. If I could, I would have hurried out of ear-shot, for whatever he said was sacred to the two of them; but I expected every moment to faint with my unaccustomed exertion. . .
“Phyllida. . . Darling Phyllida,” he began.
I do not mind telling you, because you are always discreet and, when reverence is demanded, you will be reverent. . . I thought I knew my boy, but there are depths of tenderness in a man which he never shews to his own mother. . .
“Phyllida, darling Phyllida, won’t you let me comfort you? If you break your heart, you will break mine too. You know that I have always loved you, and that gives me the right to comfort you when you are unhappy. What-
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